They Don't Understand
by Flameboo
Summary: A Pikachu chooses to write a fanfiction. After finishing it, she sees the horrors and cruel behavior of the Pokemon Fanfiction community. We're all monsters, really. We care about such worthless things. We don't really understand, do we?


I wrote this a bit ago, but I feel the need to post it. This may offend. This may confuse. This may anger. This may produce indifference.

_There seems to have been some confusion-- THIS IS NOT MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCE. ANYTHING THAT HAS HAPPENED IN THIS STORY PROBABLY DID NOT HAPPEN TO ME.  
_

OoO

_They Don't Understand_

OoO

One day, a small Pikachu named Ophelie began to write a fanfiction.

Ophelie was a tiny thing, only the tips of her ears reaching up to the computer screen, twitching nose at the keyboard. She was determined to write something, though, so she gathered a stack of books to set upon the chair. Along with this, she brought a notebook, pens, and a cup of hot cocoa. Once she had arranged these said objects around her 'Writing Area', Ophelie climbed on top of her makeshift stool and clicked open a word document.

She stared at the page.

And stared.

And stared…

And_ stared_.

Her eyes were beginning to disturb her, but she would not be torn from her desire to write a fanfiction. It had been, after all, a life goal for her even when she was a small Pichu. How tormenting it was, though— she didn't even have an idea in her head! Sighing, the Pikachu jumped down from her chair and set off to the bookshelf on the other side of the room. Perhaps the use of one of her muses would do that trick. Of course, she had never written before, but she had already made a list of muses that she wanted to use: Tolstoy, Shakespeare, Lance the Dragon Master, LeGuin, and Eustine, to name some.

A book of Shakespearian quotes was closest to the floor, and with a squeak, she batted the book down into her waiting paws. Satisfied, she lugged the book over to her Writing Area and opened it to a random page, waiting apprehensively for wonderful, creative juices to flow into her mind.

'_For they are yet ear-kissing arguments_.'

She frowned. What did _that_ mean?

'_How poor are they who have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees_.'

She understood that one better, but was still very confused. Sighing in defeat, she climbed atop the chair again and waited for inspiration.

Much later, her older brother, Claudius the Raichu, walked into the room to catch up on some reading. He was a formidable mouse, larger than normal Raichus and much, much wiser. He was so preoccupied with picking out a book for himself that he did not notice Ophelie until she murmured in her sleep.

Claudius frowned in confusion, before remembering that the Pikachu had mentioned something about writing a fanfiction. He chuckled to himself and walked over to the computer, shaking her gently awake. "Ophelie. _Ophelie_."

"What? Did I miss— oh. Hi." She smiled sleepily, yawning. "What time is it? Did I fall asleep on the job?"

He shrugged. "Around five. I don't know if it's 'the job', but you certainly fell asleep. All that writing tired you out, right? Heh."

"No…it's so frustrating! I haven't written anything yet. I don't know what's wrong with me…I can't think of anything to start off a decent fanfiction with!"

"Fanfiction?" His eyes widened. "I think you're a little young to be writing on that site."

"No I'm not!" She quieted suddenly, knowing that an argument would only bring trouble. Instead, she switched the topic. "Oh, I wanted to ask you a question. Do people like Shakespeare?"

"_What_?"

"You heard me. Do people like Shakespeare? You know, the old English guy from that far-away land. I thought of doing a sort of Shakespearean thing in my fanfiction, mixed with a little of Lance's work."

Claudius thought for a moment before shaking his head. "Gee, I don't know. I'm not sure if people would really like that. They do like character relationships, though. And other things that I'm sure mom will tell you about when you grow up." He paused, tapping his chin with his thunderbolt tail. "Just…just don't get hurt. Promise me that, will you? I'd feel awful if your feelings were hurt."

She cocked her head. "Why would my feelings get hurt?"

"Well…well…oh, how should to explain this? Well, see, Ophelie, you've never really written before, and I just think that you might look…inexperienced in your characterization and plotting compared to some other writers."

"Oh…" She slowly comprehended what her brother was telling her, and she grew quite angry with him. "I'm perfectly good, thank you very much! I'm a great writer! I'll show you, mister. I'll write a great fanfiction!"

Claudius shrugged again, a tic of his, and walked out of the room. "Well, all right. I warned you. Just remember not to write a Mary-Sue, or Gary-Stu, or anything like that."

Oblivious, Ophelie began to write.

OoO

A week later, Ophelie came to speak to Claudius.

"Well?" he asked plaintively, eyes never leaving his book.

She stood in front of him for a moment, silently thinking, before saying, "They have an odd way of thinking on Fanfiction."

"Yes."

"Some of them are despicable creatures."

"Yes."

"Some of them judge, some of them dominate."

"Yes."

"If you don't write about famous people like Ash Ketchum and such," she continued, "some people yell at you to get off of the site, or gossip about you behind your back. If you write short chapters, they tell you to make them longer, and visa versa. If you're writing is clichéd, you get made fun of for it." She sighed heavily.

"That's all true. It really is."

"They concentrate on strange things. Mary-Sues…it's always about Mary-Sues. It's always how not to write a Mary-Sue, it's what happens to you if you write a Mary-Sue, and how _stupid_ Mary-Sue writers are! _That's all it is_!"

Claudius bookmarked his place in his novel and set it gently aside on a coffee table. He sat for a moment, and folded his paws on his stomach. "Yes, that's about it. Nowadays, of course. Things change."

"It's always who's character is the most unique!"

"But of course."

"And who _scares_ people the most, who makes the biggest, most _important_ impression! Who gets the most reviews!"

He chuckled bitterly. "It's like chess, Ophelie. I already warned you. You want to _scare_ people into not writing Mary-Sues, _scare_ people into not expressing their true thoughts, _scare_ the pawns away from the King. It's the Queen who's vicious. And the chess metaphor is clichéd in itself."

"I don't even know what you're saying. It's just…so confusing! I feel bad for some people, I really do— for those people who get grouped into different plot-line groups…but some other people…I really just don't know. They're either fake, insecure, domineering, or mean." She began to grow even angrier than before, and the small Pikachu stared furiously at her large older brother. "I thought Fanfiction was a place for _writing_!"

"Evidently it is."

"No. No it isn't. It's just a place to escape. To escape and become someone else. That's all it is. You can be _anyone_."

"So," the wise one sighed, matching her glare with an indifferent gaze. "That's the way of Fanfiction, and there's nothing you can do about it. You can't change it. I'm sorry."

Ophelie stood, silent. She bowed her head, blinking.

He paused for a moment. "How many chapters have you submitted so far?"

Her voice began to shake. "Six…"

"And how many reviews have you gotten?"

Ophelie's eyes began to tear, and she rubbed them hastily with her paw. "One…mean...one..."

"Ah. I see."

And now she began to cry. "They don't understand, do they?"

"No. Not really. And they never will."

Ophelie went back to the computer, deleted her story, and began to read Shakespeare.

OoO

I now feel the need to post this.

Before, I was scared that people would be offended…but now I realize that it doesn't really matter anymore, because that's the point of the one-shot— to speak out. It's just so shocking that life is so unpredictable.

_This is for the wise ones…and the less than wise._

_This is also dedicated to a lost, younger friend who passed away in a fire last night._

In fact, none of us understand. It was said in _Our Town_, anyway. Most of the ending if heavily influenced by it.


End file.
